What's Mine is Yours
by blacksilkrose123
Summary: Hook has found a way to send Emma home back to Storybrooke, but it's costing him more than either are willing to accept.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **So it's been a while. Trying to get back into the swing of things, so thought I'd start with a one-shot, late-night drabble of our favorite Captain Swan. It's has a bit of stream of consciousness in it, a bit poetic, so when sentences drop, it's intentional. Promise. Without further ado…

Disclaimer: Wish I did, but alas, I do not own a thing.

* * *

**What's Mine is Yours**

"_Take this sinking boat and point it home_

_We've still got time_

_Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice_

_You'll make it now_…_"_

"Is it the last one?" So delicate a whisper, he barely catches it. But as her voice breaks, he can feel his chest tighten, his fist tighten, his jaw, teeth—_everything _seems to clench in longing of her, this damned princess, this bloody

"_Emma_." He doesn't mean it to come out as a threat, but it does. A warning. Not to question his motives.

The wind is picking up. Whipping those blonde tresses violently about. How he longs to tangle his lone hand in their depths, _control_ them, make them his. He has but to reach out. She'd give willingly enough, he knows, _God_ how he knows. Those stormy eyes, those raging embers, he knows every single bloody time they meet his. She _is _his. And he? He is

"Hook?"

back to square fucking one, _again_, lass. Her shoulders are quivering, back facing his chest. He can see it, but holds himself back from every aching muscle in his body that longs to lunge for its prey, ensnare her in his arms and trap her against his chest, _in _him. Her head bows and he can see how she's trying so hard not to look back at him. All she wants is confirmation, acknowledgement, recognition that this is, indeed, _it_. And as her eyes roam longingly, as he just barely escapes her peripheral vision, he feels a familiar jolt surge through him. Smolder from his head to his toes, that throbbing that has only ever left him breathless of her. His eyes stray, memorizing every angle, every curve, every patch of skin he's grown acquainted with over the months, stranded in this hellhole together. But just as he closes his mind, he finds he forgets. Desperation kicks in, a feeling _not_ acceptable to his nature.

He reaches out and in one smooth movement wraps his lone hand around the back of her neck, allowing it to nestle beneath the waves of billowing yellow. He can feel her tense, feel her defenses crumble as her entire body seems to sag beneath his fingertips. _Power, _he muses grimly, this is what power must feel like. It ignites a thrill. And dulls all sense of reason. The pad of his thumb begins to work its way, back and forth, up and down, from the base of her skull to the delicate curve where neck meets shoulder. Goosebumps. Thousands of tiny ridges rise to meet his touch. And, deeper still, he can feel her skin hum, quiver, in anticipation of something it's experienced dozens of times before.

"It's yours, darling. Has been for quite some time."

"Then where," she rounds on him angrily, "the _hell_," she shoves his hand away, "is _it_?" Her lips purse, in some half-hearted attempt, he can see, to quench her fear, her emotions, and bottle them back behind that blasted wall of hers.

"Cute, but hardly believable, love." He grins. That damn fucking grin.

Her fist drives into his chest.

It reverberates hollowly.

She comes after him then, her nails clawing, teeth bared, his own wild Cheshire cat. Mischievous. Independent. Bare before him yet completely out of reach. He nearly laughs—yet the look in her eyes is enough to make him swallow it back thickly. She, his pet, is so utterly, _utterly _dependent when it comes to him. So much worse for wear. He sighs a sad sigh as she corners him, backs him into the railing. With one fluid motion he's caught one first in one hand and the other tugged down to his hip with his hook, trapping it between silver and leather. The crisp hook bites into her flesh. "Em_ma_," he chides, brows furrowing as her struggling increases tenfold. His grip tightens menacingly. Her wrist is trapped painfully against his side. She jerks as the metal threatens to break skin.

When she does speak, her words are hollow, tone deadpan. "You did this."

He dips his head down, leveling their gazes. He searches her eyes for a moment before emitting a deep, guttural growl. "You're bloody well right I did this." He jerks his head over her shoulder, eyes never breaking contact. "I did this _for you._" Emma is shoved away from him, but he instantly regrets the sudden loss of warmth.

"I didn't want—"

"Ohh, lass, you've come a far way, haven't you?" He doesn't need to clarify. She knows. _Henry. _This place. This land of never afters has left her forgetting. He can see she knows, as her eyes sharpen and there's something threatening to spill over just there at the corner of her eye.

"My son," she echoes his implication. He watches the bob in her throat rotate as she swallows thickly, and he has to keep himself from reaching out to stroke her neck again, to draw her back into his hold, his caress, his control.

The ship rocks suddenly, lurching from beneath them and Emma loses her footing. He catches her smoothly with one arm, hauling her dead weight against his chest. His left arm snags around her waist as the other crosses over her shoulder, down, and to her stomach, fingers splayed protectively. The wind howls around them, lashing their hair into each other's' faces. He leans over her shoulder and braces his cheek against hers. Everything about his embrace screams _Mine_ but he won't say it. He won't fucking say it. Not here. Not _now. _Not when

"_Henry_, Killian," Emma moans. And he's torn, between her plea to be let go and the gut-wrenching he suffers at the rawness of his name on her tongue. Gods, he would die a thousand deaths if he could only hear her say his name unmarred, unaccompanied, once before the end of it all.

"I know, lass, I know." Because he does know. Henry's hers. She's his. He _knows_, more than he can bare to know. "Just—" but he can't finish. He burrows his eyes into the cradle of her neck, holding her that much tighter to him.

"I can't."

"You can."

"No—"

"You _must_." He presses a chaste kiss to her skin before pulling back, twisting her around and holding her at arm's length. So she couldn't see the monstrosity behind her anymore. So she could, if only for a moment, put it behind her before she put _him_ behind her. "Yes, it _is_ the last one. For good, this time. No turning back, sweetheart."

"There never was," she interjects sadly.

He smiles, tilting her head up with his hook beneath her chin. "Never is an awfully big assumption, love."

"From the man who lives in Neverland."

"Ah, there she is," he grins mischievously. He taps the bottom of her jaw lightly with his hook. "Go home, Emma. They'll be missing you."

She knocks his hook away, shaking her head and folding herself beneath his own chin, pressing her forehead to the bare patch of skin exposed between his collarbones. He stands there for a moment, suddenly unsure just how he could _possibly _ever let her g—

"Tick, tock," he whispers shakily. Even as his reserve dwindles, he wonders how his swan became so soft. What he wouldn't trade for that woman atop the beanstalk right now, guns blazing and confidence practically rolling off her as she strode out of the castle with him shouting. If only for a moment so she could be strong enough for the both of them. _Blimey_, he thought, _she's gone and turned me into a whipped cur. _

The ship shakes violently, then, and he feels as if the entire world were in on it, shaking from the force of their need. He hisses, pulling and pushing her seemingly at the same time. "Emma-love, you _have to_—"

"—go," she finishes for him. He can feel those small arms wrap around his torso for the last time, squeezing. He'll miss those arms. He'll miss a lot of things, but now is not the time. Before he can admonish her again, his blonde spitfire pulls back and without a glance paces to the opposite side of the ship's deck, gripping the railing as she hauls herself up. She pauses for a moment, laughing to herself quietly.

"Emma, what is it?" He had followed her, of course, close at her heels. His hand and hook go to her waist to steady her. She shakes her head, hastily wiping her sleeve across her eyes.

"I feel like Rose-fucking-Dawson on _Titanic_." At his confused face, she pulls herself on over the rail, fingers grappling for purchase on a taut rope.

"Who's Rose Fu—"

She shakes her head, laughing louder this time. "Never mind. Just a movie." She sighs and it takes everything in him not to reach out and bottle her breath, the sound of it, the feel of its heat against his face.

"I swear to you, Emma, if I could make a deal with the devil, I—"

And it's her turn to be brave. "Shh_hhh_. You never know when Cora could be listening."

"She's—"

"_Don't. Say. It._"

He frowns, brushing a stray tendril away from her glossy eyes. "I _swear_, you will be safe now, Emma." He leans in, pressing his forehead to hers as he gazes earnestly into her smoldering orbs. He freezes when her palm comes to rest on his bare chest, smoothing aside his shirt and resting exactly where

"_Why?_" Her voice is hoarse. "Why did you just _give _it so _freely_?"

He shrugged dismissively. "You needed it to cross. Cora has no knowledge of where mine is—she can do me no harm now. I _gave _it to _you_, sweetheart. Wherever you go, wherever you are—"

"—there you'll be," Emma whispers hauntingly. His arm crosses over hers to hold her hand to his chest. It's so easy, he thinks, to cover her with himself, entwine and make her disappear. The ever-growing rock in his stomach churns and sinks into a pit of despair. Without warning, _so utterly Emma_, her lips are crashing against his.

The kiss is chaste and urgent and an eternity of things, he thinks, they will never say or do again. Her lips are soft and plump, searching against his as he pushes back with unquenched rage. Punishment. His tongue slips past her unguarded lips and invades her mouth. He cannot help but moan when his vixen's tongue battles with his, fighting for the very thing she's had from the beginning: dominance. Her tongue brushes along the bottom of his teeth before she lets out an animalistic hiss, their teeth raking painfully. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth and bites, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to grip skin soft as peaches. He can taste blood—_her _blood—filling his mouth but he no longer cares. Just another part of her that will stay with him. He drinks her in, all of her, snarling when she jerks back abruptly. Her eyes, those doe-like eyes, are wide and glistening and she has his face in both her hands. "_You_ can't cross. You have no—"

He allows his eyes to slip closed as he nods in agreement. "I cannot."

"_Killian_…" But before she can let go, his nails bite into her bicep and his hook sinks painfully into her waistline. He heaves her non-too-gently back across the rail. She yelps, and for the hundredth time he curses that damn hook. Always getting in the bloody way. Bloody _bugger._ She jerks angrily away from him, bitterness wiping over her face at her lost strength. She glances at between him, then the railing, and he knows she's going to make a run for it. "Oh, no you don't, sweetheart," he growls. Emma's body falls limply to the deck with him atop. He leans down and gently licks at her lip, careful to keep his cerulean eyes locked on hers. His eyes, he knows, have always had the power to hold her still.

"_Damnit_, Emma, you will be my undoing," he groans. "Do not run for me. Never run from me." He breathes heavily, breathing her in. He can feel his—_her _heart—thundering madly to be free from her chest. "I promise, _promise you_, I will find a way. For us. A way for _us._" His gaze searches her, longing for her to for once just accept whatever words come out of his mouth as truth. Whether they are, however, is entirely unbeknownst even to him. He watches as her eyes slip shut and she nods. He realizes she doesn't want to know. For once, that damn woman is finally trying something new. _Oh, so now you believe me, blasted girl. Opportune moment, Swan. _

Emma's eyes flash open. Her lip quivers. He watches her take a deep breath, feels her chest expand against his. His heart, her chest, thunder against his chest. The ship rattles around them menacingly, sails billowing loudly, and the very woodwork beneath them moans against the anchor's taut restraint. "Killian, I—"

His hook silences her lips. "I know, darling. And I, you."

She grits her teeth and shoves at his chest angrily, but he refuses to budge. She kicks out her leg, swiping it beneath his braced one, and he effectively loses his balance. Emma uses her last ounce of energy to roll them over. "_No_," she snaps. "You _don't _know. I haven't even known until…" she gestures around them. He can feel her weight sink down on his lower torso, and that familiar ache returns. "You told me to try. You told me, so this is me trying. And the funny thing is I think I have all along. And I'm so—I'm so angry with myself for letting—"

_God, please, Emma, don't regret_

She leans forward bracing both hands on his chest. "For letting," she continues, "us both go on in this twisted delusion. I have a son. I have a _family_ now, Killian. But you have to know. If Henry weren't—if it weren't for Henry, I would _never _leave," she sighs, "you. And I wish," her forehead meets his, "I wish you could come."

"Darling," he chuckles, "I think you and I _both_ know from experience—"

"Shut _up_," she swats away his sexual innuendo. Emma moves her head lower, and he can feel her hair tickle his chin, his chest, as her ear hovers then presses over the spot where

His hand comes up to once again tangle in her hair. He holds her there, holds her warmth to the place that will never emit warmth again. His eyes close. He swallows thickly. Content to just stroke her hair. Keep her there with him. _Forever._

"I wish you hadn't."

"Emma," he suddenly warns, hearing the familiar growling of the sea. "We are a slave to words here, so be careful what you say, m'lady." He listens to her breathing for a moment. "It was mine to give, and it is _yours_. You need it as much as you want it. The portals between worlds are stingy with their rules, darling. You have to be _alive_ to—"

"But you're alive," she retorts bitterly. "I can feel you. You are." Stubborn. Like a child. His princess.

He gives her scalp a good squeeze, allowing his nails to dig in before raking them down her neck to her back. Emma shudders beneath his touch. "There's a difference between what one _feels _and what _is_." He lets the words sink in. It takes him a moment to notice she's tugging at his bad arm. He twists his head to the side and sees her fingers are curled around his hook, thumb deftly testing its pointed tip. He watches her fingers walk up his arm before coming to rest in his mane of hair, fisting it and giving it a soft tug. Her eyes are closed. Feeling what is. He leans his head forward, pressing his lips to the top of her head. Lightning flashes across the sky.

"Emma-love, it's time."

"_No._"

"Yes." He rolls her off him, and she leans back. He's kneeling, just as he was back in the giant's castle, hand outstretched. She glances down and he knows _she _knows. Knows she recognizes the irony of the situation.

This time she takes his hand.

This time without shackles.

This time they walk towards the rail.

But just like last time, one will leave and one will stay. He shakes his head bitterly before swallowing back the lump in his throat.

"Deep breath, darling. Chin up," he lifts her head with his hook. "There's a good lass."

"I'll see you soon." He helps her over the railing again, and she braces herself with the rope.

"It's closing, Emma. Last bean won't last so long."

"Say it."

He grips her jaw in his hand, pulling her slightly over the railing again as his lips mold to hers, pressing firmly and fiercely. His lips pull back, brushing against hers. "Be seeing you soon, love." She shakes her head. So he gives her the last thing he can give.

"I do, Emma Swan, love you. You daft, stupid girl," he laughs. And she can see, from his smile, it's true. His eyes sweep over her face one more time. His hand presses over her chest, his heart. "Keep it safe, darling. I'm going to want it back someday."

She grins. Forced, he can tell, but something in him no longer cares. She leans forward and whispers in his ear. His eyes flash, and he reaches out, but she's already gone.

She's let go.

The portal hums, closes around her.

The waves roar, caving in.

Calmness.

Her words echo in his mind, the only sound in all of Neverland.

_Come and get it. _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Okay, so here's the deal. This little thing popped into my head in the midst of English oral exam studying…of course, at 1 a.m. So…priorities being priorities…guess which forfeited?

I had originally intended to keep this a one-shot, as I am working on a lengthier story for our favorite shipped couple (so keep a lookout for that as final exams come to a close). However, if enough encouragement and inspiration continues to slip its way into my brain, this little thing will be continued. Hope you enjoy!

Don't own it.

Based on Maroon 5's "Daylight".

"Don't go."

Two words, enough to freeze him in his tracks. She knew he would be content to watch, as he always did. At first she hadn't noticed—the creak of the door, the tall shadow emanating from the soft light before consuming her in darkness again. And then, the all-too recognizable sound of complete and utter _silence._ A breath, once in a while. But no beat. None. And that's how she knew. From each shift of her position, a catch in the breath, but no rapid crescendo. Just air.

She hears the door shut softly, followed by quiet but hasty footfalls. She shrinks beneath the sheets and for a moment, she realizes, she's afraid.

The shadow approaches, and she feels like a child again, burrowing beneath the covers and squeezing her eyes shut tight. The covers are ripped away though and her game of possum has come to an end. _Damn._

"You _knew_?" he demands, and his words are harsher than she knows he means to sound. But his incredulity overtakes all efforts to keep quiet.

Emma rolls over, forcing herself to sit up halfway. "I hate to break it to you, Killian, but you have no future career in stealth. The sound of a vase connecting with my floor kind of gave you away."

"Bloody _hell_, Emma, I didn't think anyone heard that." He's exasperated, she can tell, and if it weren't for the look of desperation in his dark eyes, she'd say he was being sarcastic. Emma merely raises an eyebrow pointedly, and Killian glances over his shoulder quickly, before swooping in to plant a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Relax. If it hadn't been the pot it would've been the silent alarm." Killian's eyes widen in both confusion and unease, but Emma laughs softly to herself, leaning back down on her pillow, finally feeling _safe._ "Who do you think it's going to alarm? I _am _the sheriff."

"Good point, love."

And just like that, everything's quiet again. Emma finds she isn't quite sure what to say, or even _do_—they could have hours, or seconds, and she realizes with horror, that she can't rack her brain hard enough to find what she _needs _to say, let alone what she wants to. She feels him kneel down at the side of her bed, bracing his chin on his forearms as he takes the sight of her in. Emma grimaces.

"Bed head," she huffs, shoving her fingers into her thick mane of hair as she tries to calm down the wild tresses. But his lone hand shoots out and pulls her hands to a standstill, back beneath the weight of his chin and hook.

His eyes are serious. "Trust me, love, your head in no way resembles a bed."

Emma laughs softly, her breath hitching when she realizes just how _real _he feels—the weight of his head, the heat of his skin on hers. Her quiet laughter fades into a sigh. "You can't—_this can't_—"

"Shhhh, Emma-love." His hook, cold as steel, holds her hands folded in place. He lifts his head slightly, and allows his thumb to sweep the span of flesh beneath her eyes, dusting over her brows before giving her nose a gentle tap. "A man willing to fight for what he wants—"

"—deserves what he gets," Emma finishes faithfully, her tone on edge. "But Killian…" And she stops, her eyes slipping closed.

"Hey now, lass, look at me. _Look at me_." His fingers are on her chin, pulling her face closer to his. "I will _never_ stop fighting this, until I _have_ what _we _deserve. Emma, this is ours. What we have, everything we've created—_she _deserves a chance."

Emma bites her lip before narrowing her eyes at him. "This is your fault."

Hook chuckles lightly, ruffling her hair before allowing his nails to dig into the base of her scalp, clinging while his fingertips gently massage. Emma's jaw clenches at the gesture. Hair-playing has always been a weakness of hers…damn him. "Aye, love, but it takes two." His gaze flicks over his shoulder once more, before readjusting on Emma. He smiles but, she notices, it doesn't quite meet his cerulean eyes. Emma tries hard to concentrate on what her mind is pressing to the front of her thoughts. The merciless sensation of his touch sends shocks of electricity down her spine, effectively erasing all hopes of focus.

"Killian, stop." She tries to shove his arm away. His hook deftly shoots out and traps her wrists to the bed within its crisp curve. His hold on her hair only tightens, and for a moment, he jerks her head back, forcing her to hold still. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he leans forward to brush his lips along her jawline, _making _her watch him until his lips tug tauntingly at her earlobe.

"Now's not the time to stop, Emma."

"We don't _have_ time, _Hook_," she snaps. He pulls back at that, gaze narrowing dangerously. For a moment, Emma's memory overtakes the present, and all she can see is his face closing in on hers, pressed through the bars of Rumpelstiltskin's cell, as he demeans her, claims her as worthless before Cora. Like she meant _nothing_. And then his lips are suddenly crashing on hers, hardly giving her room to think, let alone breathe. His lips chaste against hers, hot and demanding, selfish even.

Emma balks, jerking her head back roughly. But his hand is already twisted in her hair, guiding her back to him. "Don't you _ever _fight me, Emma. My name. _Use it._ We haven't time for games, princess."

Emma's hand, before she can think, collides painfully against his cheek. The resounding _smack!_ is not nearly as loud as she had hoped, and she realizes her fingers barely tingle from the contact. But the hit was enough to make something dark flash through his eyes as he slowly, calculatingly, turns his head back to meet her ruthless glare. "You think I don't know a damn thing about time? _You think _I_ don't know?_ I've had to go at this," she gestures wildly around the room, "whole thing _alone._ All because you decided to sacrifice our happiness for my safety."

Killian growls. "Yes. Of course. How _dare_ I put everything on the line so that _she _could have a chance." He's on his feet in seconds, untangling his fingers roughly. Emma winces at the sudden, infiltrating cold that invades her bones.

His boots thud roughly on the carpet as he makes his way towards the door. "Emma, I'm _trying_—"

"Try _harder_," she snaps, flinging back the covers. "You'll miss everything, Killian. I can't freeze time here. I can't pause the moment it happens." She makes her way to a small crib tucked by the back wall of her bedroom. She can feel Hook's eyes follow her, frozen as he leans against the doorframe. She chances a glance, and despite the seriousness of the situation, the bastard is _smirking._ "Oh, shove off, Killian. This isn't funny. Who's going to help me take care of it?"

"_It_?!"

"He, she, whatever!"

Hook pushes himself away from the door frame. Emma can feel him approach her from behind as she stares down inside the empty crib. His arms enfold her, drawing her gently into the heat of his chest. He rests his chin atop her head, and Emma can't help but think how perfectly she fits. His hook is careful to keep its distance, while his other hand reaches down to entwine with her fingers, spreading atop the rather large mound of her belly. "Emma-love, you're overdue by now, yes?" Emma nods, willing herself to soak in his warmth. "Then _she_ must be every bit as stubborn as you are, lass. Must be a girl. My boy couldn't possibly wait to get his hands on a sword."

Emma laughs softly. "Daddy's girl. Waiting for you, I guess." She sighs. "It'll be Christmas soon." Hook tightens his hold before pulling his arms away slightly, intent on interrupting her holiday melancholy.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just trust me."

"Okay." She marvels at how easy it is, now, to trust him. His hand slides over her eyes, just in case.

"Are they closed?"

"…Yes."

"_Emma._"

She huffs. "Fine." And she closes him, despite the idiocy of his demands. His hands were over her eyes, after all. "Now what?" She could feel his hot breath against her ear. It sends chills racing down her spine; she fights back the visible shiver threatening to shake her stiff posture. He chuckles softly, sending more waves down her back. "Look, whatever this is—"

A cry interrupts her.

She freezes.

Her heart gives a painful lurch_. _"No."

"Open."

"_No._"

Hook snorts indignantly. "Really, Emma. You wouldn't close your eyes, and now you won't open them. One day your stubbornness is going to get you into an alarming amount of trouble, lass."

Just as the last words escape his mouth, Emma knocks his hand to the side, her eyes searching the darkness of the crib before they settle on a small bundle near the corner. "Is it…?"

She can feel his eyes boring into hers as he leans forward to tuck her back against his chest, chin falling into place on her shoulder. He peers around to look up at her, then redirects his gaze into the crib. "Yes."

Emma glances down. The rather large bump around her midsection has vanished. Her voice comes out weaker than she means it to. "How?"

"Same way I'm here with you, love."

She can feel her eyes growing hot, but she isn't quick enough to wipe away a hot trail that has made its way down her cheek. "So it's not—"

He interrupts her with a searing kiss, twisting her around and backing her up against the crib. The bars dig into her lower back but she doesn't care with him pressed flush against her like this. Every inch of him, commanding her attention. Emma gives in, throwing her arms around his neck and threading her fingers through his thick hair. His hook accidentally catches her arm, but she ignores the pain. When she finally pulls away for air, Hook chuckles as she suddenly shoves him away and reaches down to scoop up the bundle. He stops her for a moment, pulling her wrist back up to his eye level.

"Told you I knew she was a lass." He pauses as Emma abruptly turns on him, gently slipping the fussing baby into Hook's arms. He's careful to leave his hook tucked down, letting his left arm support the bundle as his right comes up to cradle her head. Emma watches him freeze in tension. She takes a few steps back, watching them, before lifting up her fingers as if holding a camera. Her finger clicks down on the imaginary shutter button and she clicks her tongue—hoping the action will somehow frame this moment in her memory.

Emma sighs. "Family. _My_ family." Hook unwillingly tears his gaze away from the gurgling child, eyes softening.

"Emma, we haven't got much time." He bends down to place the baby—_their baby_—back in the crib. Emma blinks and she's gone. The walls of the house, too, seem to be fading quickly, blurring hazily as her eyes burn hotly.

"You're not here every night. I don't know when I'll see you again." Her lip trembles, and she hates herself for feeling so weak and vulnerable. But here, her defenses are down. "It'll be Christmas soon," she repeats stubbornly, thinking almost that simple fact will be enough to keep him here.

Hook reaches out with his good hand and tugs her close. His eyes catch hold of her bleeding wrist, where he'd nicked her with his hook. "Sorry, love." Emma shrugs; the wound is dry and forgotten. He wraps his left arm around her waist, allowing the coolness of his hook to rest against the small of her back. He takes a moment to haul her up and against him, before lowering her socked toes down on his boots. Emma's eyes slip closed as he presses her head tenderly to his chest. _Here_, she can hear it. The steady drumming. And then his chest rumbles softly, and she realizes he's humming. Their bodies begin to sway. Emma nearly laughs aloud. "You dance?"

Hook huffs, offended. "I may be a buccaneer, love, but I still have some bloody class."

Emma grins. "Right. Of _course_ you do." He tightens his hold, gripping her closer and breathing in the scent of her hair.

"When daylight comes, you know where I'll be."

"Shut up. I don't want to think about that yet." The room begins to quake, and Emma _knows_ her subconscious knows. It's a dream. Reality is setting in, tearing down the walls and stripping her imagination of its existence.

"When daylight comes," he repeats, pulling back his head until she looks back at him. He brings their hands between them, placing them gently over her heart. "I'll be—"

Emma's eyes open. The sun is breaking through her curtains. She runs a shaky hand through her hair, sitting up without a glance at the empty crib. One hand finds her stomach, splaying protectively over the smooth bump. The other rests flush over her chest. She stares at the light pouring in. And she can't, for the life of her, remember why the words _Right Here_ are searing through her mind.

A soft jolt knocks against Emma's hand. She glances down, then smiles. "Right, breakfast. Okay, kiddo." Emma pulls on a ragged sweatshirt, standing up to face the day—completely oblivious of the dried blood on her wrist.

**A/N:** Enjoy? I know it's a bit sad, but let's face it—with those two separated, it's going to be somewhat of a sad story.

Please review


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